When retired to his own apartment, Edward endeavoured to sum up the
business of the day. That the repulse he had received from Flora would be
persisted in for the present, there was no doubt. But could he hope for
ultimate success in case circumstances permitted the renewal of his suit?
Would the enthusiastic loyalty, which at this animating moment left no
room for a softer passion, survive, at least in its engrossing force, the
success or the failure of the present political machinations? And if so,
could he hope that the interest which she had acknowledged him to possess
in her favour might be improved into a warmer attachment? He taxed his
memory to recall every word she had used, with the appropriate looks and
gestures which had enforced them, and ended by finding himself in the
same state of uncertainty. It was very late before sleep brought relief
to the tumult of his mind, after the most painful and agitating day which
he had ever passed.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A LETTER FROM TULLY-VEOLAN
In the morning, when Waverley's troubled reflections had for some time
given way to repose, there came music to his dreams, but not the voice of
Selma.
Pages:
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449